


a kiss, and we can't go back

by godsensei



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood and Violence, Fever, Fluff and Angst, Lance (Voltron) Whump, M/M, No Sex, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), Romance, Unrequited Love, Whump, shance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 03:10:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16109549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godsensei/pseuds/godsensei
Summary: “He’s not an animal, or feral, or whatever you keep calling him.” Lance looks straight into the creatures eyes when they light upon him. “You’re threatened by him. You’re afraid.”Lance can tell he’s hit a sore spot by the straightening of the creature’s spine.





	a kiss, and we can't go back

**Author's Note:**

> veltron said: So, I saw your post on Shance whump requests and I was thinking of Lance defending Shiro's honor or self in some way and just having the shit kicked out of him. Even better if its one sided pining from either end.
> 
> \---
> 
> As per usual, I always deviate from my path a bit. This was a trip to write, thanks for requesting it! This is only rated Explicit for all the blood and violence and stuff.

He doesn’t know how this happened.

One moment, the mission was going fine. Sure, he was making a fool of himself in front of Shiro, as per usual, but they’d been laughing about it, so he counts it as a win. That’s a win, right? Totally.

In a split second, it’d all gone to shit. Most missions do that, if Lance is being honest, but usually they find their way out of it. Their enemy must’ve gotten some sort of intel, figured out what Voltron’s plans were before they’d done it. It was too much like an ambush for them _not_ to have known.

It doesn’t matter, though, what happened. As his Mama used to say, ‘que sera sera’.

What Lance must do _now_ is keep a level head. His eyes shift over to Shiro, who is still out cold from the knock to his head and hanging limply from where they have him chained up, arm bound in something most likely to keep it from working. There’s blood running down his face, the white of his hair stained pink.

It hurts to see him like that. It hurts to know that, once again, Lance has failed him in some way. Lance was _supposed_ to be watching out for them, the cool sniper in the shadows with the vantage point. He’d been too late on the uptake— gotten cut off right as he’d noticed something amiss.

His own head is bleeding, he knows. He can feel it drying on his face, can feel the ache of a bruise forming in the shape of the butt of a gun.

Shiro doesn’t look too good (though he _always_ looks good, Lance has to keep it real), face gaunt and pale in the shadows. He’s still breathing, though, nice and even.

“One of our guests has deigned to grace us with his consciousness.” The voice startles Lance. He’d been so focused on Shiro—that he was safe and alive— that he hadn’t looked around yet. _Another_ strike on him. Par for the course.

“The Blue Paladin, is it?” the alien creature asks, much too pretty for such a malicious face. There are tall, almost elf-like beings, too pale, with large, black sclera, watching them. The leader—he or she, Lance can’t tell— is walking in a semi-circle around them, eyeing them with a manic sort of look in their eye.

“The Red Paladin, actually,” Lance says, arms aching where they’ve chained him to the wall. The angle is unnatural, pulling at his muscles in just the wrong way. He knees touch the ground, holding him up, his thighs screaming at him.

“Is that so?” they ask, just a tad too tensely.

He’s pissed them off already, somehow. _Good._

“Wake the Black Paladin,” their captor instructs, and one of the lackeys steps forward to backhand Shiro across the face.

“Hey!” Lance yells in his defense.

Shiro wakes with an audible gasp, pulling at his chains. He seems to realize what’s happened immediately, turning his head to see if he’s alone. When he sees Lance, his face straightens, resolve written all over him.

That’s what Shiro _does._ He becomes the pavilion, the citadel, even when nobody asks it of him. Lance wishes he’d share that burden. He wants, more than anything, to _help._

“Black Paladin, it was _most_ fortunate for us that you joined this mission yourself. The right place and the right time, as we predicted. You were a hard catch. We are so happy of you to be with us.”

“Can’t say the same, I’m afraid,” Shiro answers, brave, even in captivity.

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” the alien concedes, stepping forward to grab Shiro’s jaw in their hand. “Such a shame— you’d make a _wonderful_ pet. I heard about your exploits as the Galran Champion. So feral, without conscience, really.”

Lance can see how much that hurts Shiro, the way he tenses up, jaw clenched, knuckles turning white.

“Hey! Ugly!”

The alien’s head snaps towards him, baring their teeth.

“Get your filthy paws off him. You look like an albino Yalmor when they haven’t found any Faunatonium. If anyone’d make a good pet, it’d be _you._ ”

False bravado? Lance can do that.

The creature stands abruptly from their crouch near Shiro, grasping Lance’s face harshly instead. Their sharp nails dig into his skin, pinpricks of pain misting his eyes over a bit.

“You are an _insect_ of little use.” Okay, yeah, that hurts a little bit. He’s not even _pet_ material. But at least he has their attention now. Attention that’s _not_ on Shiro.

“I don’t know who told you _that_ information, but they’re wrong. All paladins are made equally. I’m _totally_ important, kind of a big player, actually.”

“Well, lucky for you,” their nails dig in further, and Lance winces, trickles of blood beading down his face, “it’s not _Paladins_ we’re interested in. Just the Champion here.”

The creature narrows their eyes, releasing his face slowly. Lance furrows his brows, watching the creature consider the both of them.

“So much _blood_ on his hands. You weren’t close to him when you were captured, and he’s not often involved in on-ground missions. Do you not trust him? _Tch_ — I wouldn’t either, I’m afraid. A wild _animal_ can never be tamed.”

Lance can’t _stand_ that. He can’t stand the look on Shiro’s face or the words this creature that knows _nothing_ about them is saying.

They yammer on, bringing up Shiro’s past like it’s relevant, until he just _can’t._

“He’s _not_ an animal, or feral, or whatever you keep calling him.” Lance looks straight into the creatures eyes when they light upon him. “You’re _threatened_ by him. You’re _afraid._ ”

Lance can tell he’s hit a sore spot by the straightening of the creature’s spine.

“I know he’s killed innocents,” their captor insists, “but calls himself a hero for the Universe. He wasn’t the only prisoner in the fighting arena—”

“So this is a _revenge_ plot?” Lance asks as the creature stalks close again, breathing heavily. “You’re punishing him for defending himself in a Galran arena as a _prisoner,_ but refuse to see the irony in what you’re doing here?”

“Shut up! This worthless _scum_ deserves _death._ ”

“Is that how that works? Sounds like a Galran concept to me. I’m sorry you lost someone—”

“I lost _everything!”_ The creature screams, backhanding Lance so hard his head snaps backwards and he sees black dots dancing across his vision. He can taste blood in his mouth, and he pulls back around, feeling it drip from his lips. “ _He_ did that to me.”

“Lance. It’s okay,” Shiro urges, but Lance shakes his head.

“You’re no better than the Galra,” he grits out between his teeth, spitting the collected blood at their feet, and the creature goes stark still.

“You protect him,” they say, evenly, “but he’d surely leave you for dead—”

“I’d _still_ protect him, even if it ever came to that. He wouldn’t, not ever, but—” Lance looks over at Shiro, meeting his eyes. “He’s worth more than any of you here.”

The alien grips his clothes from the front, pulling him away from the wall and slamming him against it. He feels the breath knock right out him, and a sharp, abrupt pain as he tries to suck in a breath again.

“Lance, _stop!_ ” He can hear Shiro in the din of shouts that have gone up since his insult. The creatures surrounding them are outraged, but the alien leader puts a hand up, silencing them.

“He will watch you die, then, knowing your death is on him. You’ve given me a wonderful idea, _Red Paladin._ You against my best warrior.” The creature stands tall, pointing towards a deadly looking companion.

Lance eyes him warily.

 _Great._ He’s built like a brick shit house. He has to fight Alien Captain fucking America, or Captain fucking whatever this planet’s name is. If Lance’s mom were here, she’d kill him herself, no fights necessary.

“Originally, I was going to force the Champion to fight Alubrind, who’s been training since childhood, but this is fitting. An eye for an eye.”

The alien signals with their finger, and two of her companions stalk forward, undoing the chains and jerking Lance to his feet.

“ _No_ — this is on _me!_ ” Shiro snarls, yanking at the chains. “You _can’t_ —”

“ _You_ have no say in the matter. It was forfeit the moment you ripped my husband away from me.”

The creature composes themselves, smoothing a hand down their stomach as they take a breath.

“Because I am _not_ the Galra—” they look pointedly at Lance “—you will be fitted into a warrior’s outfit and given time to say your goodbyes... Something that wasn’t afforded to me.”

Lance watches them go, locking the door behind them. He rushes over to Shiro, checking his chains as quickly as he can. They won’t budge, and he doesn’t have anything that’ll cut them off. His bayard is gone.

“You can’t do this, Lance. You have to convince them to let me take your place,” Shiro says, but Lance ignores him in favor of slipping his hands on either side of Shiro’s face.

Shiro goes silent, eyebrows furrowing, dark eyes alight with something Lance can’t name. He tilts Shiro’s head slightly, touching at the wound with soft fingers. It’s stopped bleeding, which is good. Coran taught him a thing or two about on-the-field battle wounds, and stopping the bleeding is one of his first rules.

“You’re a sniper, Lance. Hand-to-hand combat has never been your specialty,” Shiro says, and Lance laughs, dropping his hands.

“Even Pidge kicks my ass,” he agrees, smiling.

He might not ever see her again. The smile slips from his face.

“ _Lance,_ ” Shiro says, a touch of desperation in his voice. “I know what you’re thinking. You _can’t_ do this. Not for me.”

Lance takes a moment to truly look at him. This is the closest they’ve been in a while. Here, he can see the finest of wrinkles around Shiro’s eyes, can imagine how he might look when he’s older. His lashes are dark and long, and he can see the texture of the scar across Shiro’s nose and cheeks. He’s always been beautiful, but here, now, when he’s the last friendly face Lance might see, he’s breathtaking.

He doesn’t mind dying, if it’s for Shiro. He’s been harboring _such_ a silly crush on him, ever since the Garrison, when he first saw Shiro in his uniform across the cafeteria. Shiro has never once looked at him like Lance means anything more than a teammate should, he knows, but he can’t help himself. Being with Shiro, working with him, laughing with him, having food fights and late-night conversations with him— it’s just made it all _worse._

He probably loves him— just a _little_ bit.

“If I die—”

Shiro makes a noise, chest heaving.

“ _Lance—”_

“ _If_ I die,” Lance begins again, hands bunched up in Shiro’s shirt, “I want two things from you.”

“Don’t do this. There has to be a way to get me out of these chains—”

“One: tell my family everything— how much I missed them, everything I did. I want them to be proud of me. I want them to know I kept fighting for _them._ That includes the team.”

Shiro shakes his head, face contorting slightly.

“Two…,” Lance trails off, stepping closer. Shiro looks at him in confusion, but Lance lifts his trembling hands to hold Shiro’s face again, this time, with different intent.

Lance has always been a little stupid. He never made the best grades, never had the best one-liners, always felt like the worst, so acted like the best. So, he’s justified now.

“Two,” Lance says, pressing his lips to Shiro’s. It’s a fleeting touch, a single ounce of everything that Lance feels for him, but he hopes Shiro gets it. He knows it’s not reciprocated, but— he hopes Shiro gets it.

He pulls away, eyes closed just as tears begin slipping down his face.

“Lance,” Shiro whispers, sounding as broken as Lance feels now.

He opens his eyes, watches the tears that fall down Shiro’s face in turn.

“I didn’t know,” he says.

The doors open.  

***

The universe loves its irony, that’s for certain.

She (the leader of these people, the one who lost her husband, “Celeste”, they called her) has set up an approximation of what Lance imagined the Galra arena to look like. Her people are crowded around the arena, screaming viciously.

They all seem to share her bloodlust.

_Rude._

Lance has been fitted with a customary warrior’s outfit, which is armor in and of itself. It’s too tight against his bruised ribs, and definitely doesn’t complement his skin tone. He’s been given a weapon— a long staff with a spear at the end. He’s used something similar before during training simulations, but he’s not an expert. He’s not an expert at hand-to-hand combat, either. If Keith were here, this would probably be a piece of cake, but he’s not. And Keith will never know he thought that, either.

Alubrind is standing stoically at the middle of the arena, which Lance is making his way to now. They’ve transferred Shiro the bottom of Celeste’s feet, his hands chained to the ground. He has a clear vantage point of the battle.

Lance doesn’t want Shiro to blame himself. He probably will anyway. That’s just how he is _._

He thinks of his mother for a moment, but can’t for too long, or he might start crying. He tries to remind himself of all that he’s been through up to this point. How many fights has he won, how many times has he escaped with his life? It’s too easy to lose count.

The center of the ring comes up too quickly, and Lance readies his stance, watching Alubrind, who is watching Celeste for the signal to start.

Lance can do this.

Silence hushes the entire audience, and time stops.

The crowd begins screaming again the moment Alubrind springs into action.

He’s _fast_ — as fast as Keith, if not more so. Lance barely trips out of the way, countering his sword with a clang. He puts as much distance as he can between them, keeping his eyes trained on Alubrind’s.

Shiro had always told him that people telegraph their next move in their eyes, but Alubrind seems like a closed book. Before Lance can tell, he’s sprinting forwards, striking left, right, left, right, quick and deadly, like a snake. Lance blocks, up, left, right, right, left, rolling to the side to get away again.

Alubrind doesn’t give him a moment, and Lance has to trip backwards to avoid a slice to the chest. He hits the ground hard, rolling to the side and narrowly missing the blade that embeds into the ground with force.

It takes a moment for Alubrind to pull it from the ground, and Lance lets his adrenaline carry him forward, shouldering Alubrind as hard as he can. The creature falls, but he doesn’t stay down for long, catching Lance off guard and kicking him in the chest.

A quick slash follows, and Lance gasps as the sword catches the sensitive skin of his thigh and splits it open. He can feel the warmth of his blood immediately, clenches his jaw as he tries to keep standing. He’s been cut before, but it never gets easier.

Alubrind is out to kill him, he understands that, but Lance doesn’t know if he can kill Alubrind, or, rather, if he wants to. It’s all so unnecessary, but this is what Shiro was forced with, something Celeste isn’t understanding. It’s not fair to tell him to forfeit his life for a stranger— someone who, for all accounts, could be a truly horrible person. He _doesn’t_ know. He doesn’t have a choice. He doesn’t know how Celeste can’t see what she’s done.

Lance pants after dodging another blow and using the momentum to swing the spearhead across Alubrind’s chest. It cuts him the same way his sword had cut Lance.

 _There_ — injury-for-injury. The crowd roars their displeasure. Too bad. Suck on that, _haters._

Lance’s injured leg is shaking, his heart pounding. His mind is running a mile a minute as he takes in Alubrind’s movements.

He takes Lance’s panting for weakness and closes in. Making as if he’s going to pull a heavy attack, Lance braces himself, only for Alubrind to cut himself off and stab at Lance from the middle.

Lance screams as the sword pierces his midsection, more shock than anything, swinging his staff wildly and hitting Alubrind upside the head. It knocks him down, his sword pulling out of Lance and falling at his feet. Swaying unsteadily as he presses a hand against the newest wound, Lance heaves in quick breaths, barely able to grab the fallen sword.

Alubrind stands, just as unsteady as Lance, but divested of his weapon. Lance throws the weapon as far as he can behind him. It lands a good ways away, stuck in the ground.

He throws his staff, too.

“I don’t want to fight you. I don’t want any of this.”

Alubrind pauses, glancing over at Celeste. She stands abruptly, furious and red-faced.

“The match goes on!” she bellows.

Alubrind looks at him, seeming as if he regrets this, but charges at him regardless.

It’s not his fault.

It’s like playing football in his family’s yard, except he’s already pretty grievously injured and the impact feels like he’s being hit by a truck. Alubrind straddles him, putting pressure on his wound.

Lance croaks, and braces himself for the punch that comes his way. He feels his lip split open on the second, his nose break on the third, resigns himself to the hands that surround his windpipe until he can’t breathe.

Not exactly how he pictured this going.

His lungs are burning before long and his mind is swimming in panic, his legs scrabbling at the ground, anything to get away, to pull in a breath. He’s making noises, looking over at Shiro before he can stop himself.

Shiro is tugging at his chains, yelling something Lance can’t hear. Pricks of darkness are tunneling his vision, but Shiro is fighting so hard to get out. His arm is sparking, the veins on his neck standing out as he trembles.

Lance wishes for so many things. He wishes he could’ve introduced his family to Shiro, brought him to his home, even show him the embarrassing poster of Shiro he still has on his bedroom wall. He wishes Shiro would’ve kissed him back. He wishes he would’ve done it sooner.

His fingers start to falter against Alubrind’s hands, and he feels like he’s floating, not quite hearing anything as he watches Shiro break his chains.

Then, he knows nothing else.

***

Lance gasps horribly when he wakes, sitting up and immediately regretting it. He falls backwards, groaning in pain. His entire body feels like a giant bruise, and his stomach and leg are aching so badly he wants to scream.

He squeezes his eyes shut, regrets that too when it pulls at his nose. He nearly jumps out of his skin when someone touches his arm gently.

“Sorry, sorry— try not to move. I don’t know if you’re internally injured.”

It takes a moment to truly register where he is and what happened. Lance watches Shiro for a moment before he slowly covers his eyes with one shaking hand. Everything hits him all at once, and he’s weeping before he can prevent it.

The tears won’t stop now that he’s started, and he doesn’t even care that he sounds like a literal infant as he chokes out sob after sob. He thought he was going to die. He thought _so_ many things.

“It’s okay. I’m here— I’m right here. It’s okay, Lance,” he hears Shiro crooning, feels his hand squeezing Lance’s non-injured thigh in comfort.

“Fuck, I’m sorry—” he cuts himself off, wiping the snot from his face. He probably looks great right now, dirty and bloody and face screwed up like a toddler’s as he tries to calm down, but swallows big hiccups of residual crying.

“Don’t be,” Shiro says, moving away slightly. It helps to focus on something, so Lance watches him work. He’s made a makeshift bowl out of his shoulder armor, and has ripped cloth from Lance’s warrior-skirt-thing.

“Wha’ happened?” he asks finally, when his hiccups are sporadic, not constant. Shiro wrings a cold cloth out, soothes it over Lance’s forehead. It feels wonderful against his hot skin, soothing his headache a bit.

“I broke the device preventing my arm from working,” Shiro explains, pressing lightly with the cloth. “I grabbed you, worked my way through a few people, now we’re hiding here. In this…  cave.”

Lance is silent for a moment, but his “last moments” keep flashing in his vision. He opens his eyes to find Shiro, to fill the quiet.

“Thank you for—”

“Don’t,” Shiro says, turned away from Lance. His shoulders are tensed, head bent over.

Lance doesn’t understand.

“Are you... mad at me?”

“No, Lance, god _damn_ it. I’m not _mad_ at you,” Shiro says, turning back to him. He looks wrecked, puts a hand to his own forehead to rub at it. “You can’t do that to me again.”

“I didn’t want to—”

“I’m _responsible_ for you—”

“I’m a Paladin of Voltron. Shiro... you can’t protect me from everything—”

“I can _damn_ well try. I thought—” Shiro cuts himself off with a gasping breath. “I thought you were going to die. I thought I was too late.”

“Shiro…”

“I thought you were going to die for me and I—”

“It’s okay, Shiro,” Lance soothes, grabbing Shiro’s hand and squeezing it tightly. Shiro squeezes back, covering his eyes. He sits there for long minutes, their hands intertwined, sharing the emotion.

He’s never seen Shiro like this. Sure, he’s shared a moment or two with Shiro’s clone, and that memory is there for both of them, but it was never like _this._

“I don’t know how we’re getting off this planet,” Shiro says, eventually. He sighs. “We need to get you to a healing facility as soon as possible. I know you’re hurting.”

“I’m pretty strong,” Lance says, trying to make light of it, even though his vision is blurring at the edges and he feels too hot, too sluggish. He’s not sure how much blood he’s lost, if he’s gotten an infection.

“Despite the situation…,” Shiro begins, turning back to Lance, and smiling something warm and wholly Shiro, “I’m proud of you.”

Lance’s face heats for a reason completely unrelated to fever, squeezing Shiro’s hand again.

“Also, once we’re out of this? We’re definitely talking about that kiss.”

Lance splutters, pulling the cloth from his forehead and covering his entire face with it. Shiro laughs, pulling his hand away.

“You need to rest,” Shiro says, standing. “I’m going to check the perimeter. Sleep.”

***

Lance wakes with considerably less urgency, and honestly… he’s unsure if he’s really awake or not.

Everything seems syrupy slow, hard to focus on. Shiro must’ve built a fire— Lance hears it crackling nearby— and he’d appreciate it, but Lance feels like he can’t pull in enough air. He’s weak all over, sucking in panting little breaths as waves of heat roll off of him.

Distantly, he’s aware that this is _not_ good, but he can’t _think_ enough to understand _why._

Moving takes too much out of him, but he’s dying for some relief from the warmth. It’s too much, parching his throat, his mouth full of cotton.

He must make some sort of noise, because Shiro is suddenly in front of him. His mouth moves, but the world feels clogged and heavy, like they’re underwater.

“...Lance?” Shiro asks, pressing his flesh hand against Lance’s forehead. It feels _blessedly_ cool on his skin, and Shiro wastes no time cupping his face with his other hand, too. That’s even _cooler,_ and Lance mumbles his thanks. “Jesus, you’re _burning_ up.”

“You callin’ me hot?” Lance asks, whining slightly when Shiro lets his hands fall away.

Shiro curses, standing up and pacing around the fire. Lance blinks at him, vaguely aware of the strangeness of that. Shiro scrubs a hand through his hair, shoulders tense.

“Shiro?”

Shiro turns to him again, smiling at him softly.

“It’s gonna be okay, Lance.” He seems to consider something, eyes shifting towards the opening the cave they’re in. “There are plants I recognized on our trek here. I’d have to examine them closer to see if they’d be of any use, but I think it’s worth trying.”

He nods, crouching down beside Lance again.

“I’m going to be close by, so yell as loud as you can if you need me. I’ll come running,” Shiro says, pressing his hand against Lance’s heated flesh— his cheek, his forehead, his other cheek. Lance sighs his appreciation, his eyes fluttering closed. “Try and rest some more. I’ll be right back.”

Lance doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep with how hot he is, but he keeps waking up anyway. How long he’s sleeping for at any given time, he’s not sure. In and out of consciousness he goes, the fire dimming the longer it goes on.

The passage of time is completely foreign to him at this point, and when he comes to next, someone is ripping at his clothes. His mind panics for a minute, hands coming up and pawing at the body in front of him to get him to stop.

“I know it sucks, but I have to treat these wounds,” he says, and Lance relaxes marginally, recognizing the voice. “I’m so sorry, Lance.”

Lance wants to tell them it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to cry or apologize. It’s _okay._

Then the pain starts.

It shocks him into awareness, and he recognizes the wound on his stomach. Alubrind. He remembers what happened now.

 “Shiro,” he gasps, grasping at Shiro's wrist where he’s trying to treat the wound.

“I know, Lance,” Shiro croons, “you’re doing good, sharpshooter. Just a little more.”

He lets out a guttural moan as Shiro lets water sluice off the blood, clenching his fists tightly as he throws his head back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Shiro says like a mantra, and Lance passes out to the rhythm of it.

***

 

“I’m not gonna lose you! Do you hear me, Lance? _Stay with me!_ ”

 

***

 

There are flashes of colors that shift through the cracks of his eyes, distant shouting.

 

***

Waking up in the healing pods _sucks,_ but Lance is kinda getting used to it. He doesn’t know what that says about him, and he’s not going to analyze it, thank you very much.

He’s grateful that Coran knew how to build another one (thanks Pop Pop), but also, did he have to keep it _exactly_ the same?

First of all, the healing pod is _cold,_ but gradually warms to room temperature the closer it gets to countdown.

Second of all, the countdown.

He starts to move his toes and legs as soon as he can, because falling on his face isn’t exactly how he wants to start _any_ day. Especially when there’s people waiting outside of the pod. Which, there’s at least _one_ person this time. Lance can see their shadow hovering nearby.

“ _Pod opening in 3… 2… 1…_ ”

The door opens with a hiss, and, despite his pro toe wiggling, he loses control of his legs immediately. He stumbles into a firm chest, thankful that there’s usually someone around to catch him when he falls.

Now, he’s _usually_ hugged after he exits the healing pod— you know, near death experiences and all that— but this feels more like being slowly suffocated.

Hm.

Shiro is slowly suffocating him.

Not that this isn’t nice, because it is, Lord is it, but also—

What is happening?

Well, he’s not looking a gift-horse in the mouth here. He hugs Shiro just as tightly, splaying his long-fingered hands across his shoulder blades and closing his eyes.

He can hear Shiro’s heartbeat.

It’s beating _so_ fast.

That means their last escapade together _wasn’t_ a healing-pod induced dream (those are totally real and very confusing).

Shiro loosens his hold, but doesn’t let go, grasping Lance’s arms and holding him at a short length.

“Do I even need to say it?”

“...you missed me?” Lance hazards, because _clearly_ he’s not going to promise not to do what he did again because he would absolutely, 100% do it again. That’s just how Lance rolls.

Shiro narrows his eyes, but sighs, shocking Lance by pressing their foreheads together. He closes his eyes, cupping Lance’s face in both of his hands.

“I can’t do that again. You died, Lance.”

Lance swallows, grabbing Shiro’s wrists and holding. He didn’t know he _died._

“If we hadn’t had the healing pods, I—” Shiro cuts himself off, dropping his head to Lance’s shoulder. Lance looks out at the surrounding room, hand sliding up the back of Shiro’s neck to ground him.

“I can’t promise I won’t do it again, Shiro. I’m sorry. I can’t keep that kinda promise.”

Shiro tucks his face into Lance’s neck, exhaling tremulously.

“I’m so used to being in control, being the leader, the one on the front lines,” he admits, and Lance laughs lightly.

“Now you know how I’ve felt every time you’ve come back from being, you know, dead.”

Shiro laughs against his throat, the warmth of his breath making Lance shiver. He straightens up, smiling down at Lance.

“So…”

“So,” Lance agrees.

“Coran says the planet we’ve landed on has another space-mall,” Shiro says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side.

“That sounds like fun,” Lance says, uncertainly. He’s not sure where Shiro is going with this.

“Uh,” Shiro clears his throat, “I thought we could… go on… a date.” He shrugs.

He _shrugs,_ like a nervous teenager. Inside, Lance is _wheezing._ On the outside, his mouth is parted in surprise.

“Wait— really?” he asks, after a moment, shaking his head. “Wait. Is this like a pity date or some sort of ‘thank you’ for almost dying for you?”

“No!” Shiro says quickly, face flushing. Oh, wow, okay, that’s really cute. “I just— you’re really—”

Lance covers his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking.

“I’m bad at this,” Shiro says. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you kissing me.”

“Oh,” Lance breathes. “Okay.”

“Okay, yes?” Shiro asks.

“Yes! Absolutely! I would love to go on a date with you. We can try the kissing again— I was under significant pressure, it wasn’t my best performance.”

Shiro laughs, loud and uninhibited.

“Okay,” he says warmly, letting his gaze roam over Lance’s face. “Just a heads-up. Hunk might tackle you as soon as I open the door.”

Lance nods, cracks his neck a few times. He jumps up and down, and then crouches slightly.

“Alright. Let him in.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still pretty new to whump! Was it okay? :D


End file.
